The Wrong Side of the Law

by Robert J. Randisi

  Palmer fired his rifle twice. One man flew from his saddle as if he’d been roped from behind. The second man took a bullet in the shoulder. The third man leaped off his horse and rolled toward cover.

  Palmer ducked back out of sight. He’d killed one, and there were two left, one wounded, one not. Not quite the way he’d figured it.

  “Marshal!” somebody yelled. “You didn’t get two of us, so you’re still outnumbered.”

  Palmer didn’t answer.

  “So now the dance is two to one,” the voice shouted, and then laughed.

  Palmer thought he could stay where he was. If they tried to climb up after him, he’d pick them off. Of course, if they decided to wait him out, they had water and his canteen was on his saddle. So he had to make a move.

  First, he had to get off that rock down to even footing with them. One of them was bleeding, probably pretty bad, so the two to one was more like one and a half to one.

  Palmer slid down the back of the rock, the way he had come up. His horse was about a hundred yards away, but that was not where he wanted to go. He could have ridden off and left the men on foot, but they’d always be looking over their shoulder. He had to finish it here.

  The best way to finish this was head-on. He had to step out into the open and have them reveal their position. After that, it was going to come down to whoever could shoot the quickest and most accurately. Palmer had never been a fast gun, but he usually hit what he shot at.

  He listened, thought he could hear some movement, then stepped out from behind the rock base, gun ready. There was nothing. He took a few steps slowly, then more quickly, then stopped and listened. Still nothing. Then he heard a horse and ducked back, but when the animal went by, there was no one in the saddle. The two men might’ve lost both their horses. He was going to have to take care of them before they found his gelding.

  Holding his rifle ready, he continued forward, stopped when he saw the blood on the ground.

  “Come on out,” he called. “Let’s finish this.” He waited, got no answer. “You must want to do this or you wouldn’t have gone for your guns. Come on, here I am.”

  Then he saw the other horses, two of them, off in the distance. Maybe he could’ve stayed where he was. Their water was on their saddle, and their horses were loose.

  “Okay,” somebody called, “let’s do it! We’ll step out.”

  He turned, tried to see where the voices were coming from.

  “Come on, then,” he said.

  He looked around, then saw the first man step out. Behind him came the second, bleeding from one shoulder.

  “We can call this off,” Palmer said. “Drop your guns and come with me.”

  “We ain’t gonna dangle from no rope,” the uninjured man said.

  Palmer looked at the bleeding man. Probably a few more moments and he’d collapse. He looked pale, and his injured arm was dangling.

  The uninjured man went for his gun and Palmer shot him in the chest. Then he levered another round and pointed the rifle at the bleeding man.

  “You’ll have to take your hand away from your wound to draw your gun,” Palmer said. “Either way, you’re going to die.”

  The other man stared at him, opened his mouth to speak, and then suddenly slumped to the ground. Palmer went to him and leaned over him. He was dead. His wound had bled profusely, and he couldn’t survive. Palmer checked both of the other men, found them both dead. He left them where they were, not wanting to take the time to bury them. He walked to his horse, mounted up, and rode away.

  * * *

  * * *

  What’s your story?” Dancy asked Atlee as they rode along.

  “Whataya mean?”

  “I mean,” Dancy said, “why’re you doin’ this? You’re no lawman.”

  “I’m a deputy,” Atlee insisted.

  “Without a badge?”

  “I’ll get one when we get back,” Atlee said. “There was no time. We had to ride after you.”

  “A posse?”

  “Just three of us,” Atlee said.

  “Look,” Dancy said, “why be a deputy? I’ve got plenty of money hidden away. It’s yours. All we have to do is go and get it.”

  “I wanna be a deputy,” Atlee said. “I don’t want your money.”

  “You’re crazy, then,” Dancy said. “That’s the only explanation. The marshal, it’s his job, but you . . . you’re just crazy.”

  “Shut up,” Atlee said.

  “Why?” Dancy said. “You gonna kill me? The marshal wants to take me back alive.”

  “I’ll tell ’im you tried to escape,” Atlee said. “You tried for my gun, and I had to shoot you. Then we’ll just take your body back to town. So shut up.”

  “I’m shuttin’ up,” Dancy said, “but believe me, son, your time’s gonna come.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Later, Atlee heard the horse behind them, reined in, and turned.

  “My boys,” Dancy said with a smile.

  “One horse,” Atlee said. “It’s the marshal.”

  They both looked and waited, finally saw Palmer riding toward them. Atlee looked over at Dancy, saw the blank look on his face.

  “What happened?” Atlee asked.

  “I found them,” Palmer told him, “and I took care of them.”

  “You killed all of them?” Dancy demanded.

  Palmer turned to face the man.

  “They didn’t give me a choice.”

  “I’m gonna make you pay for that, lawman,” Dancy growled at him.

  “I’d like to see you try,” Palmer said, “from the end of a rope.” He looked at Atlee. “Let’s get this polecat back to Integrity.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Palmer turned the key in the lock and stared through the cell bars at Jack Dancy.

  “Welcome home,” he said.

  “You ain’t gonna leave me here with him, are ya?” Pike shouted.

  “There’s an empty cell between you,” Palmer said. “I think you’ll be fine.”

  When he came out of the cellblock, Steve Atlee was seated at his desk, and Mayor O’Connor was standing in front of the desk, eyeing Atlee suspiciously.

  “Mr. Mayor,” Palmer said.

  “Marshal,” O’Connor said, “that’s the man who shot Henderson?”

  “He was the leader of the men who came to town when Henderson was shot,” Palmer said. “He said he shot him, and we’ll know more when we can talk to Belle Henderson.”

  O’Connor looked at Atlee again.

  “Steve,” Palmer said, “open up that drawer on the right. There are a couple of deputy’s badges in there. Pin one on.”

  “Yessir!”

  “Marshal—” O’Connor started.

  “I wouldn’t have that man in a cell,” Palmer said, “and the men who were with him wouldn’t be dead without Deputy Atlee, Mr. Mayor. I think he deserves a badge, don’t you?”

  O’Connor looked at Atlee, who was pinning on the badge, and then back at Palmer.

  “It’s your call, Marshal. Please let me know what you find out from Mrs. Henderson.”

  The mayor turned and left.

  “Marshal, why didn’t you tell him Henderson’s real name?” Atlee asked.

  “The man had a new life here,” Palmer said. “Besides, we’ve got only the word of a killer that he had another name.”

  “What happens if Belle Henderson says Dancy didn’t shoot her husband?” Atlee asked.

  “Then I guess we’re in trouble,” Palmer said. “But I’m going to go find out right now. You stay here and watch the prisoners, Deputy.”

  “Yessir!”

  * * *

  * * *

  Palmer found out from Doc Stack that Belle Henderson was alive and resting at home. The Hendersons had a
small house in a section of town that looked like it was in need of a cleanup. His knock on the door was answered by a woman he recognized as Reba Waters, the sometime nurse for Doc Stack.

  “Marshal,” she greeted him.

  “How is she?”

  “Weak and resting but alive,” Reba said. “I’m tryin’ to get her to eat somethin’. I’m glad you’re back. Did you get the man?”

  “I believe we did,” Palmer said, “but I need to talk to her to find out for sure.”

  “Well, she’ll be glad to see you,” Mrs. Waters said.

  The inside of the house was neat, looked to be furnished with handmade chairs and tables. There was a second, small room that served as the bedroom. Palmer crossed to the doorway and looked in. Belle Henderson was lying on her back with a sheet covering her. Mrs. Waters must have spent time combing her hair for her, for she looked lovely, although pale.

  He entered the room and approached the bed.

  “Belle?”

  She didn’t respond immediately.

  “Belle,” he said again, and this time her eyes fluttered and then opened.

  “Marshal?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is it really you?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been havin’ dreams, and I’m never sure what’s real and what isn’t.” She put her hand out and he took it.

  “I’m real,” he assured her. “Can you answer some questions?”

  “I think so.”

  “I really only have one,” Palmer said. “Do you know who shot you and your husband?”

  “Y-yes,” she said. “The man I saw with Ken, the one with the . . . the scar down his face.”

  “That’s all I needed to know,” Palmer said, squeezing her hand.

  “D-did you get him?” she asked.

  “I got him,” he said. “He’s in a cell, and he’s going to hang.”

  Now she squeezed his hand.

  “Thank you.”

  He patted her hand and then released it.

  “You rest,” he said. “When you’re well enough, you’ll testify and put him away.”

  “Yes,” she said, and closed her eyes.

  He didn’t bother asking her if she knew her husband had had another name. Maybe Henderson had fooled her along with everyone else.

  The way he was doing.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was a week later when Belle Henderson walked hesitantly into a courtroom and testified against Jack Dancy for shooting her and her husband.

  “Your Honor,” Dancy’s attorney said, “this woman is obviously not recovered enough from her injuries to make a proper identification.”

  “Counselor,” the judge said, “sit down!”

  It seemed like moments later that the jury came in with a guilty verdict.

  “Mr. Dancy, please stand,” the judge said. “You have been found guilty of murder in the first degree. I’m not going to put this off because I don’t want to come back here to do it. You are hereby sentenced to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. The hanging will take place just as soon as a scaffold can be erected and a hangman brought to town.” He banged his gavel. “This court is adjourned.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Outside the courtroom Belle was waiting for Palmer; she grabbed both his hands the moment she saw him. Deputy Atlee stood off to one side with both prisoners, Dancy and Pike. Both men had their hands shackled behind them, but Pike still looked nervous.

  “Thank you so much,” she said.

  “I told you,” Palmer replied. “He’s going to hang for what he did.”

  Palmer left her and went to help Steve Atlee take Dancy and Pike back to their cells.

  “You must be pretty pleased with yourself,” Dancy said as Palmer locked the cell door.

  “You got that right, Dancy,” Palmer said. “You’re getting what you deserve.”

  “Did you tell the pretty wife what her husband’s real name was?”

  “No,” Palmer said, “and you won’t, either.”

  “Don’t you think the people here deserve to know what a phony they had living among them?”

  “I don’t,” Palmer said. “I believe a man deserves a new start.”

  “Now,” Dancy said, “why would you believe somethin’ like that?”

  Palmer ignored him and left the cellblock.

  “He still don’t think he’s gonna hang, huh?” Atlee asked.

  “He’s in for a big disappointment,” Palmer said.

  “You wanna take some time off, Marshal?” Atlee asked. “I can handle things from here.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Palmer said. “I’m not taking any time off until he’s swinging.”

  “Well, then,” Atlee said, grabbing his hat, “I think I’ll go for a drink and somethin’ to eat.”

  “Don’t spend a lot of time in a saloon,” Palmer told him. “One drink and out. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Atlee left and Palmer sat at his desk. He was wanted in most of the Southwest. He considered what he was doing in Integrity, South Dakota, starting over. But he would hate to think of himself as a phony. He was lying, yes, but he was doing it to have a life. By becoming Marshal Abe Cassidy, he didn’t feel he was taking anything away from anyone. After all, the real Cassidy and his family were all dead.

  But one thought nagged at him. It had appeared when he found the Cassidy family and their wagons that there might have been more children than the ones who had been killed. What if one or two children had been taken by the Indians? Were they out there believing their father would be coming for them? Was he doing them a disservice by not searching for them? He didn’t think so. After all, he wasn’t their real father.

  He thought about going to the stove for some coffee, but instead took a bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer.

  * * *

  * * *

  Hey, Marshal!” Dancy shouted from his cell.

  “Shut up!” Palmer shouted back.

  “Come on,” Dancy said, “I’m hungry. Don’t I get fed?”

  “What’s it matter?” Palmer asked. “You’re going to hang.”

  “Not on an empty stomach, I ain’t!”

  Palmer looked at the bottle of whiskey on his desk. He had already consumed too much of it, so he put it back in his desk drawer. Something to eat would probably be a good idea for him, too. At that moment, Steve Atlee came walking in.

  “You ready for supper, Marshal?” he asked.

  “I was just thinking about that, Deputy,” Palmer said, standing. “When I come back, I’ll bring the prisoners something, so if Dancy starts yelling again about being hungry, tell him to be patient.”

  “Got it.”

  Palmer put on his hat and left the office, heading for the Stallion or the Sweetwater.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A steak at the Sweetwater helped soak up the whiskey Palmer had drank in his office. He was still wondering if Belle Henderson deserved to know about her husband’s former life. And could he wonder about something like that while he was keeping his true identity from an entire town?

  After he finished eating, he asked the waiter to put two meals together for the prisoners. The man did so and brought them out in a basket.

  “You can bring the knives and forks back whenever you come in again, Marshal,” the man said.

  “I’d appreciate if you cut the steak up now,” Palmer said. “I’m not giving my prisoners knives.”

  “Sure thing, Marshal.”

  He carried the basket back to the jail and into the cellblock.

  “That my supper?” Dancy asked. “Finally?”

  “I got you a steak,” Palmer said. “Stand against the back wall.
”

  Dancy backed up until he was flat against the wall. Palmer unlocked the door, set the basket down on the floor, put a cup of water next to it, and then locked the door. He walked over and did the same with Pike.

  Dancy picked up the basket and took it to his cot. The first thing he did was take out the fork.

  “How am I supposed to eat a steak without a knife?” he asked.

  “The steak’s already been cut up for you.”

  Dancy took the plate out and saw what Palmer meant.

  “I gotta admit, Marshal, you think of everythin’,” Dancy said.

  “Shut up and eat,” Palmer said. “Let me know when you’re done.”

  “Sure thing, Marshal.”

  Palmer left the cellblock, went to the stove, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “You can go home, Steve,” he said, walking to the desk. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “You gonna spend the night here, Marshal?”

  Palmer nodded.

  “I can sleep at my desk.”

  “I’ll relieve you early so you can get some breakfast and then some proper sleep,” Atlee said.

  “That sounds good, Deputy,” Palmer said. “Good night.”

  “’Night, Marshal.”

  Atlee left and Palmer leaned back in his chair. He was more than two months into his new life as Marshal Abe Cassidy. If he decided to move, would he have to take on another name or go back to being Tom Palmer? He knew he didn’t want to go back to an outlaw life. Twenty years was enough. With his last job going bad, he had come full circle from when he was sixteen. If he left now and he wasn’t an outlaw or a lawman, what would he be? His only experiences were on either side of the law.

  “Marshal!” Dancy shouted.

  “What?”

  “I’m finished,” Dancy said, “but I can smell that coffee. I sure could use a cup.”

  Palmer gave it some thought, then went to the stove and poured a cup. He carried it into the cellblock. Dancy had placed the basket on the floor in front of the door.